THO' LEIXLIP IS PROUD. TUNE-" Humours of Glen." THO' Leixlip is proud of its close shady bowers, Poor Pat, while so blest in his mean humble station, One sweet smile can give him the wealth of a nation, From Norah, dear Norah, the theme of my song. LANGOLEE. WHEN I took my departure from Dublin's sweet town, And for England's own self thro' the seas I did plough, For seven long days I was tost up and down, Like a quid of chew'd hay in the throat of a cow; When afraid off the deck in the ocean to slip, Sir, I clung like a cat, a fast hold for to keep, Sir, Round about the big post that grows out of the ship, Sir, Och! I never thought more to sing Langolee. Thus standing stock still all the while I was moving, Till Ireland's sweet coast I saw clean out of sight; Myself, the next day-a true Irishman proving, When leaving the ship on the shore for to light; As the board they put out was too narrow for quarter, But sure cold and hunger I never yet knew more, With a whirligig, which up the chimney I spy'd, Sir; Which grinds all their smoke into powder, beside, Sir, 'Tis as true as I'm now singing Langolee. Next I went to the landlord of all the stage coaches, That set sail for London each night in the week, To whom I obnoxiously made my approaches, As a birth aboard one I was come for to seek; But as for the inside, I'd no cash in my casket; So, says I, with your leave, may I make bold to ask it, When the coach is gone off, pray what time goes the basket? For there I can ride and sing Langolee. Then screwing his mouth up, The basket, says he, Sir, O, long life to the moon for a brave noble creature, That sarves us with lamp-light each night in the dark, While the sun only shines in the day, which, by nature, Wants no light at all, as you all may remark: But as for the moon-by my shoul, I'll be bound, Sir, JUDY O'FLANNIKIN. TUNE-" Humours of Limerick." OH, whack! Cupid's a mannikin, Dearly she loves neat Looney Mactwolter. For her father sells beer; He keeps the sign of the cow and the snuffers She's so smart, From my heart I cannot bolt her. Oh, whack! Judy O'Flannikin! Oh hone! good news I need a bit; We'd correspond, but learning would choke her: Mavronne! I cannot read a bit; Judy can't tell a pen from a proker. Judy's so constant I'll never forsake her; She's as true as the moon, Only one afternoon I caught her asleep with a hump-back'd shoemaker: Oh, she's smart! From my heart I cannot bolt her. Oh, whack! Judy O'Flannikin! SHANNON'S FLOW'RY BANKS. In summer when the leaves were green, On Shannon's flow'ry banks we sat, Ah, well-a-day, you see me pine And then we vow'd eternal truth, Just when we nam'd next morning fair My love, he cry'd, they force me hence, And then we vow'd eternal truth From morn to eve, for twelve dull months, The peace was made, the ship came back, His beauteous face, and manly form, THE MAID IN BEDLAM. TUNE- Gramachree." ONE morning very early, one morning in the spring, I love my love, because I know my love loves me. O cruel were his parents, who sent my love to sea, ruin'd me; And I love my love, because I know my love loves me. |